


The Fall

by Grinner_H



Series: 15 a Piece Prompt Challenge [11]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7226620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For her prompt : <i>A spar leads to some sexy times.</i></p><p>For Prompt #62 - <i>Frost</i> (selected by <b><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida">Ash</a></b> from <b><a href="http://insane-1.deviantart.com/art/200-Writing-Challenge-68163506">200 Writing Challenge</a></b>).</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ominous_Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous_Rain/gifts).



> For her prompt : _A spar leads to some sexy times._
> 
> For Prompt #62 - _Frost_ (selected by **[Ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida)** from **[200 Writing Challenge](http://insane-1.deviantart.com/art/200-Writing-Challenge-68163506)** ).

Later, he would slip between the thin cotton sheets of his bed and find Bianchi there.

He would fit himself against her soft curves, press his wicked smile against her neck, her collarbone, the deep valley of her breasts. 

He knows just how it would go - the familiar wet warmth of her, the tightness of her slender limbs around his frame, the flutter of her hot breath against his ear. 

She would say, _I love you._

Later, he would lie.

—

But there is _now._

 _Now,_ there is a gash across his cheekbone, angry and open like a challenge. 

_Now,_ there's his fist against flesh - the plane of a leanly muscled stomach, bunching and rippling with undeniable pain and wheezed laughter.

Rokudou Mukuro coughs blood and spit and derision. His response is a startlingly powerful grip against Reborn's shoulders, the brutal force of head against chin; hard enough to momentarily disorient, to knock the fedora from his crown.

There are no illusions here. 

He has grown weary of these childish, terrifying tricks; this mindfuckery. Weary of ignoring them, of summoning enough willpower to not succumb.

He knows that Mukuro has grown weary of dodging his bullets, and - on occasion - the butt of his gun. 

So there is nothing but flesh against flesh, nothing but breath and blood and bone. 

Now, all they've got are bruises and instinct.

—

And then, there is the feel of his back against the dirt. 

Reborn doesn't mind this, not really. 

Not when Mukuro's got his smile - blade-sharp and ice-cold - against the rapidly thrumming pulse point in his neck.

Not when he has Mukuro's gelid hands beneath his shirt, pale bony fingers dancing against the flesh over his ribs.

Not when Mukuro's straddling him like this, angling his hips like this, lowering himself till he's fully impaled upon Reborn's cock.

—

He doesn't try to pretend they're lovers, or anything like it. 

Reborn doesn't harbor such sick delusions and Mukuro… well, he knows that Mukuro would never understand such a concept.

Mukuro's heart, Reborn thinks, was lost long ago; buried alongside his sanity in the fathomless depths of the Vendicare.

What they _are,_ is this bloodied, hungry mess of teeth and limbs. 

Mukuro's blue hair trailing his skin. Mukuro's mismatched eyes screaming of lust and carnage. Mukuro's stuttered breath like curses, his hisses like moans.

Reborn's fingers find their home at the base of Mukuro's neck, pulls him down even as his hips jerk upward - harsh and greedy into velvet heat.

He bites on Mukuro's blood-smeared lips, thinks he tastes like sex and death.

—

There is a large bruise on Mukuro's side. 

It is one - among many - that Reborn holds responsibility for. Just like the bite marks on Mukuro's shoulder. Just like the laceration along his thigh. 

He smooths his palm over it now, a parody of a loving caress. 

Then, his hand shifts, fingers tightening unkindly around Mukuro's flank.

Mukuro jerks and hisses, comes brilliantly on Reborn's stomach.

—

Later, Reborn would watch the line of Bianchi's unmarked back.

He would run his fingers along her graceful spine, trace the gentle curve of her shoulders, tangle them into the strands of her fine, pink hair.

Later, he would imagine they were cobalt blue.


End file.
